


Cold as a match (ready to strike)

by dwarrowkings



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: M/M, magicians au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 08:27:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14328519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dwarrowkings/pseuds/dwarrowkings
Summary: Gansey sticks out his hand for a handshake, and Adam reaches out to shake it. He immediately admits that he’s made a huge mistake.Gansey’s hand is warm, and firmly grips Adams hand. He smells like rain and mint. Neither of those things stops Adam from feeling like he’s sinking into cool water. Surprised and joyful and shivering.“Adam,” Gansey says, and he sounds overwhelmed too, like Adam is nothing like he expected. Or like he’s found something he’s long been looking for. Or like he’s lost.Adam/Gansey Magicians AU





	Cold as a match (ready to strike)

**Author's Note:**

> Sort of Magicians AU in that they're aged up, and the search for Glendower and the Ley Line didn't happen because Gansey and Ronan were in Brakebills instead of Aglionby. Knowledge of the Magicians (show or book) is not required. Very loosely based on TRC canon, and also very loosely based on Magicians canon. There are in jokes I can't remember why I wrote, and parts that I wrote that don't exist in this version. I've been working on this for months, I'm tired of it, please take it away from me. 
> 
> If anything is wrong in the form of formatting or grammar or anything, it's definitely my fault, because I never have a beta. Let me know & I will correct. 
> 
> Title is from Foo Fighter's 'Something from Nothing.'  
> Deep and sincere thanks to my lovely gf sosobriquet, who gracefully listened to me cry about this fic for literal months, despite knowing nothing about the Magicians. In addition to this also starting out as a frickin Sugar Daddy AU that ended up never getting written.

Adam wakes with the rustling of leaves in his ears like whispers. He's not sure what language they're speaking, but it seems familiar. Half-asleep, he doesn't expect himself to identify ancient languages very quickly. Slowly, the sounds of his apartment filter in: the intermittent 7 AM traffic outside, the buzz of the overworked AC Unit, the leaky bathroom sink faucet. White noise washes out the whispers.

He rolls out of bed, head down, eyes closed, stretching stiff muscles. He cracks his knuckles, one by one, bracing his thumb against the bottom third of his finger and pushing the side of his hand against the other side, all three knuckles pop in quick succession. Hands loose, he stands, his knees stiff and awkward. He hobbles to the bathroom, loosening as he goes gradually until he's in the shower, where they loosen even more.

The rushing of the water against the tile fades out, and for a couple of minutes, he can hear the leaves whispering again, but this time he can hear what they say. 'GanseyGanseyGanseyGansey' it's not a word he recognizes, in any language he knows. It isn't a name that he's aware of, probably he'd know if it were famous. Maybe.

He shuts the water off, and the whispering washes down the drain.

He steps out of the shower, and grabs a towel. He really needs to wash it, but can't quite get up the gumption to go to the laundromat, and cleaning spells are… not working for him of late. He can't quite get the Circumstances, and all his spells end up with smoking piles of damp clothing, which he can’t afford. 

He waters the herbs growing in the kitchen window, and then the other magical herbs in the bedroom. You have to keep them separate or your rosemary and thyme will start randomly blooming. And yet more in the bathroom that thrive in slightly more humid climes.

He doesn't have quite time to get coffee before he has to be at work, but he does have time to pour some in a thermos while he scarfs down a hardboiled egg and some toast.

He grabs his keys, pats his pocket for his wallet, stuffs the books he borrowed from Persephone into his bag, and is halfway out the door before he realizes that his shoes are still by the doorway. He toes into them, too lazy to tie them properly, and heads down the stairs.

The day outside is warm already, a humid 85 at 7:30 in the morning. He'll be sweaty when he gets to work, but it won't matter. He's got his work shirt stuffed into his bag, and deodorant if it comes to that. He'll be early enough to open at 8. He sips at his coffee, and waves to the dog walker who takes his route. She's friendly enough, but the dogs love him, and he bends down on one knee and lets them snuffle into his armpit and hands and side.

“Bye, guys,” he says, routine by now, “I'd love to stay, but I'll get fired if I don't go.” It isn’t true, but he doesn’t want Blue’s family’s good favor to go to waste.

“Bye, Adam” the walker says. Four dogs bark their excitement and sadness and goodbyes.

He wipes his hand on his shirt, and turns onto Fox Way, down to the obscure little shop. The door jangles when he opens it with the key, and he turns the sign around to say “Open.” Technically the store doesn't have set hours, but Adam likes a schedule. Blue comes down when it suits her. The rest of the Sargents typically flit in and out, always doing their own thing, sometimes helping customers, sometimes raiding supplies, but there won't be any of the usual bustle from the approximately 100 people in Blue's family, since they've all absconded to some arcane vacation / ritual that neither Adam, who is tertiary to their orbit, nor Blue, who is heretofore entirely unmagical, is invited to.  
Adam tidies the counters, sweeps the floor before any customers decide to show up. Blue comes down around 10, sleep ruffled and still in her Pjs. She licks yogurt off the back of her spoon, and wistfulness overtakes him. He loves that, her, but it used to be different. More. It used to mean something. Now he feels like he’s wasting it. 

“Your face,” she says, and laughs.It’s not kind, but if it were, he’d probably get angry.

“Your shirt,” he says. It's got Big Bird on it. 'Put a Bird on it' it proclaims. Adam had ordered it for her for Christmas, and he is still proud of it.

She bumps her shoulder with his on her way back to the kitchen in the back. He faintly hears the clunk of the spoon in the sink and yells “Wash your own dishes!” out of habit.

The doorbell jangles, and a storm of a person sweeps in. Tall and dark, and painfully handsome. He's also Adam's age, which is surprising, since the average age of their customers is about 90. Hedgewitches take all types, but not so many have quite the speciality of the Sargents.

He runs a hand over his head, face chiseled like the old bronze civil war general in the city centre. He's either going to rob them or kill them. Adam hopes for a quick death.

He approaches the counter, and Adam looks into his blue eyes. He's hard to ignore, even if Adam were trying, but he seems familiar. It's a small town, he's probably seen him a lot, but Adam thinks that he'd remember. The guy reaches into his pocket, and Adam sucks in a bracing breath. He pulls out a folded piece of paper, and smacks it on the counter. Adam flinches. He pushes it across the counter, and Adam blurts “Can I help you?” Raised eyebrows and Adam feels his cheeks heat.  
He takes the paper, unfolds it and reads.

“I heard you had a Mayakovsky Mirror Shard.” His voice conveys as much judgment as his eyebrows had. That's what it says on the paper, in handwriting that somehow manages to be pensive.  
“It isn't for sale,” he says. Technically it is, but they're notoriously picky about their owners, and this one only likes Adam. Adam doesn't have the cash.

“Try me.” the guy says. Adam sighs, resigning himself to cleaning the rest of the afternoon. It took days to clean up the glass last time, and he'd had to replace all the plates in the whole cabinet. No bowls, saucers or mugs. Just plates. He's not looking forward to it, but if it'll make the whispers at night go away, he's willing to try.

He takes a breath in the cool quiet of the pantry between the front room of the house turned shop and the kitchen. The cabinet opens against his hand, charmed to open for him and Blue. The newspaper crinkles in his hand, and he takes a minute to stare into the shard. Moonlight spills across bottom of the drawer, the shard no bigger than the palm of his hand. It illuminates a creek through the branches of a weeping willow. Perched on a rock is the Raven, always the Raven. Normally it just stares at him, canny and unknowable, but this time it caws “Kerah!” Unnerved, he covers it with the news paper, and shifts it around so that it's facing up. A splash of forest night in a bed of newsprint.

He ignores the whispers, louder and louder.

When he returns, Blue and the guy are staring at each other. Adam clears his throat. The stream gurgles. The guy turns, a look of surprise on his face. The raven caws “Kerah!” again and flaps its wings. The shop rings with the silence after.

“We'll take it.” Awe softens his features until his face is completely unrecognizable from when he came in.

“Three thousand?” Adam says. He's not sure what the Sargents would charge an unknown, but this is a thousand more than they priced him. Adam is surprised The guy pulls a bank envelope out of the messenger bag that Adam hadn't noticed because of the guy's face, and counts out some bills.

“I'll need your name for the receipt. Any transaction over 500 requires them.” Adam feels uprooted, the ground slipping under his feet, even though he's standing still. He's proud that his voice is devoid of the surprise and envy that he's feeling.

“Gansey,” and Adam startles. “Richard Campbell Gansey,” the guy says. It has to be a fake name, “the third.” The guy says it like a joke, but one he's fond of telling. 'GanseyGanseyGanseyGansey,' Adam hears again, and he isn't sure if it's real or a memory. His hands feel slick, and for half a moment he's afraid that it's blood, but he's not sure where it would have come from.

“Thank you Mr. Gansey,” the name rolling off his tongue like it was meant to be there, as if he'd said it a thousand times instead of heard it in his sleep, “Pleasure doing business with you.” He offers the newspaper gingerly, and doesn't show any of the regret he feels.

Fake Name Gansey gives a mock salute, his amusement writ large on his face. “Blue,” he says. It takes Adam a couple of seconds to it was a farewell. By then he's out the door, the shard cradled carefully in his hand, like it's more important than the three thousand dollars he paid for it. The look on his face is caught between the battle he'd looked prepared for when he walked in, and the awe Adam had seen when he'd looked in the shard. He's too much for Adam to believe, half limned in the light from outside.

“What?” He says, almost desperate for something to make sense. The Shard is gone, What about the dreams? Maybe he'd get some sleep.

Blue says “I like him.” She's moved on to folding the receipt he'd left into an origami crane. When she's done, she puts it on top of the register, the G framed just right to look like an eye on the crane's head in Adams careful print.

Adam folds his arms on the counters and bends over, breathing in and out, trying to calm his pounding heart.

Blue's small hand touches his shoulder, but Adam doesn't move, and she brushes past him, and back upstairs. He's both grateful and disappointed to be left alone.

His breathing calms enough for him to re-count the money, marveling that there are people who just… have this much money to spare.

There aren't a whole lot of things to do with a Mayakovsky mirror shard, and fewer people who know how. Mostly people buy them to collect, or because they're fated. Adam wonders which one Gansey is. Fated probably, if the whispers are anything to go by. Adam tamps down on his disappointment again, because at least while it was here, he could see it. The forest. It always seemed unfamiliar, like all the trees had moved slightly, but Adam had always known it was the same place. The rocks, the stream. The Raven.  
No point in worrying, it's gone. He pulled out one of the borrowed spell books, and began to read – something about portals and time. Adam knew how to slow it, to make it quicker, but not to travel through it, and it seemed like a precariously bad idea. Like trying to balance two knives edge to edge. Dangerous and nearly impossible.

The phone rings once, twice, and Adam is so startled he drops the book into his lap. He's too used to someone warning him when the phone is going to ring, or answering it right as it does, that he almost misses answering it at all.

“Sargent's” he says, desperately trying to slow his breathing.

“Hi!” says a voice, almost too cheerful. “This is Gansey.” This time, Adam believes the voice that says it. “I had Ronan drop by and procure a Mayakovsky Mirror shard earlier.” Ronan fits the guy more than Gansey did, and Adam is glad that his fake-name spotting skills haven't slipped any. There's a pause, like Gansey realizes he's being ridiculous, but then he continues, even more affable than before. “I just wanted to thank you.” He sounds genuine, and Adam isn't used to that in this business. You get the loners, and the surly. Basically like Ronan had been. Rarely do you get anyone who follows up unless something's gone sideways or upside down.

“It's no problem,” Adam says, surprising himself with how warm his voice is. He's still a little bitter that it slipped away, even though he knew he'd never be able to afford it.

“There aren't that many shards left, and everyone else who had one refused to let me see it. I was quite pleased that you sold us yours.” Adam shudders to think what it would have done to someone's house. Spoilt eggs and broken teacups, at least.

“We do curate eclectic magical objects and sell them. That's kind of the job.” Adam says instead.

“Right.” Gansey says, as if Adam said something that didn't quite fit. Like he'd expected to be friends. 

“Well, then. I did tell Ronan to offer 5, so it was very kind of you to take it for 3.” Adam mentally balks at someone talking about thousands of dollars in single units. “A shard of this size usually goes for 10 or 15, especially to the right buyer.” Adam makes a mental note to never take the kindness of the Sargents for granted again. Adam could have been the right buyer. “So the way I see it, I owe you at least 4 thousand more.”

“That's really not necessary -” Adam tries to say, but Gansey cuts in.

“Nonsense. Half price is the least you should take for it.” As if that's final.

“No, really. Maura never thought it would sell to someone else. There aren't that many people who can look into one without… Minor Magical Happenings, and I was the only one who could look into that one without all the bread in the house going moldy. The screaming was awful.” In fact, every time he looked at it, any plants grew just a little bit bigger, the sun shone a little brighter. Wilted flowers bloomed anew. It was embarrassing.

“Then it's all the more valuable, since my herb garden has all but doubled in size since Ronan brought it home.” Adam feels a pang of jealousy. Whether it's for Ronan, Gansey or home, he's not sure. Maybe for the garden. Adam's big into denial these days. “And since it works fine for all of us,” and Adam is weirdly pleased to be included in that, “I still feel like I owe you something.”

“It's really nothing.” Adam says, wishing it were true.

“It doesn't sound like nothing. I hate to be indebted to you. Look, I'll make you a deal. It likes you too, right? What if we worked together.”

“Work together?” What was Gansey even doing? He didn't even know Adam.

“It's… difficult to explain. I'll come in tomorrow, some time around 10. I'll bring the money I still owe, and we'll talk about our future endeavors, okay? I'd like to meet you. Ronan was quite impressed.”

“Uhm.” Adam says. Ronan seemed distinctly unimpressed by everything.

“Don't mind him. He pretends to hate everyone, but it's a front.” Gansey seemed to think that they were friends enough to discuss his other friends. It's a strange way to be, to pretend you're friends with someone you barely know, but Adam wishes it weren't pretending. Already feels like it isn't.

“Mmm,” Adam hums. He's not sure how to answer, but Gansey is having his own conversation.

“I'll see you tomorrow at 10, then. Bye!”

Adam pushes through the rest of his day, and that night, “Kerah!”

The same Raven from the day before. Ronan is sitting on a the rock, with the Raven perched on his bent arm. With his other hand, Ronan strokes the feathers at the base of the raven’s neck, almost like a dog. Adam would have sworn that this was a different person just based on the soft look on his face if he hadn't already seen it.

The bird turns its head away from Ronan, and Adam feels the cool grass under his bare feet, slightly damp with dew.

The wind rustles the leaves above his head, and he hears them, coming from all sides. It's cool in a way that promises warmth. The sky is dark, but the moon is bright, and the rustling sounds like whispers.  
The bird turns back and says “Kerah!” Again, and Adam realizes with his hazy dream logic that it's her name for Ronan.

Ronan looks at him. “You can't unstrike the match.” His mouth doesn’t move. Black edges up the back of his neck, feathers molding together to form a sword, an open beak. He hears a scream, but it turns into the rustling of leaves. Whispers. There's a shape under the willow tree, Adam almost sees a hand, and the edge of a jaw, when there's a clap of thunder.

He wakes up with a start. When he gets up to shower, he doesn't realize his feet leave small, damp patches on the sheets.

\--

Adam takes a sip of the coffee Blue brought him from the kitchen, and the bell above the door jingles. He almost snorts it through his nose. For a second, no one comes in, it's just a tanned hand with a well kept watch holding onto the doorknob. For a moment, Adam thinks he knows what's coming. Frat boy, too much money, probably went to Brakebills. When Gansey - there isn’t anyone else it could be – comes in, Adam has to admit that two of three isn’t bad. He isn’t so much frat boy as incidentally fit scholar.

He has the look of someone raised in the carelessness of always having had money.

“Hi!” He says, chipper as he was yesterday on the phone. “Ronan didn’t give me your name. Knowing him though, I doubt he asked. I’m Gansey.” He strides forward, to where Adam is standing next to their small plant display. There are more of them out back, but this is to show the variety. Adam puts his coffee down next to some aloe, and wipes his hands on his apron. From someone in that polo and shorts combo, Adam expects to be called “old sport” at some point. The topsiders confirm it.

“Adam Parrish.” Gansey looks at Adam like he’s interesting. Adam doesn’t know yet if Gansey is the type of rich person who likes old things because they’re old and worth money, or new things because they’re new and expensive. He’s not sure which he’d prefer.

Gansey sticks out his hand for a handshake, and Adam reaches out to shake it. He immediately admits that he’s made a huge mistake.

Gansey’s hand is warm, and firmly grips Adams hand. He smells like rain and mint. Neither of those things stops Adam from feeling like he’s sinking into cool water. Surprised and joyful and shivering.

“Adam,” Gansey says, and he sounds overwhelmed too, like Adam is nothing like he expected. Or like he’s found something he’s long been looking for. Or like he’s lost.

“This,” Gansey starts, trails off like he’s lost his nerve. Then his face sets like a stone dropping, like his nerve has hardened into steel. His voice is light and casual when he says“You don’t dream of forests, do you?”

Adam jerks his hand back, suddenly aware of how long they’d been holding hands. Gansey’s eyes flicker, and Adam thinks he’s disappointed. “What.” Adam says, a beat too late, a bit too flat.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Gansey says quickly, but Adam can tell that he’s deflecting. Maybe it’s the truth, but the truth can be a lie too.

“How did you know to ask that?”

“I didn’t know,” Gansey says slowly, as if this is what he meant to say earlier, but still considering his answer. This is closer to the truth, and even Adam can tell. He talks slowly, like Adam is a skittish animal, and Gansey doesn’t want to scare him away. “But I had… a feeling,” the last is said as if feelings were somehow not how he came to his usual conclusions, and he’s not used to it yet, “and I couldn’t ignore it. You do, don’t you. Dream of the forest?” He says it with such certainty.

“I dream of a forest,” Adam equivocates. “No guarantees it’s the one you’re asking about.” Adam can't’ tell if the rushing in his ears is adrenalin or if it’s the forest again. ‘GanseyGanseyGanseyGansey’. He’s heard it so often that his heart beats in time.

“There’s only one strong enough,” Gansey says, as if he talks about it enough to be certain.

He looks at Adam again, again.

Adam pretends he doesn’t recognize the melancholy in his eyes. ‘Rich boy,’ his mind hisses. That’s right. Gansey is here on business.

Maybe it’s the look on Adam’s face, but Gansey seems to realize this just as Adam thinks it. The crane of Ronan’s receipt is still on the register, the eye staring impassively at Adam.

“Right.” This seems to be the word Gansey uses to recenter himself. “About the Mirror shard.” He reaches into his backpack, which he’d been holding by the loop, instead of having it slung on his back. He pulls out a stack of bills, and Adam thinks that much money should never just… come out of a backpack. A briefcase or rolled up like blood money, or in a lockbox maybe. But not a backpack, even one so obviously expensive as this one. ‘Schoolboy,’ Adam thinks, almost gleefully, ‘Brakebills.’

Inside, Adam can see the notebooks, the rumpled papers, single colored spines of old books that probably belong more in a private collection than a backpack, for goodness’ sake.

“I can’t take that.” Adam takes a step back, like if he can get far enough away, he won’t have to deal with it.

“But you sold it to me severely undervalued. I’m only giving what it’s worth. Half, even.”

“Accept that you got a steal, because the receipt is already made. It’s a contract, and I can’t break it.”

“Then I’ll buy something else.” Gansey looks around, and finding nothing that could possibly be worth four thousand dollars, jesus christ, he looks back at Adam. “I could just leave it.”

“Oh yes, just leave a stack of money to be stolen in a random shop.”

“It isn’t random. I’m leaving it here.” Gansey says, as if it’s the most logical conclusion. “Oh, Blue. Hi.”

Adam doubted that she'd finally mastered the art of moving silently. His blood was still up, he must have been so focused on Gansey and trying to get away that he hadn’t noticed her. The first time since he’d met her. Curses.

“Just take it, Adam.” Blue is curiously cold. “If you don’t, he really will leave it.” She sounded so much like Persephone, that weird dreamlike tone to her voice, like everything she said floated on the wind and could be snatched away or changed at any moment. Like everything she said, if you actually heard it, was unmistakably true. Grow up with psychics, you learn a few tricks.

“You take it, then.” Adam says. “And you can write the receipt for Calla.” When Calla did the books at the end of the week, and she’d be very happy to have to account for four thousand extra dollars. Plus the three thousand that they got yesterday.

Blue shrugs. “Fine.”

She steps behind the register, and pushes the button. She pulls out the old fashioned receipt book, and writes in Gansey’s name. Gansey seems hesitant to leave Adam, so he teeters between leaving Adam where he is and going to the counter to finish what he came for. Half of what he came for.  
Adam takes another step back, and now he’s far enough away that Gansey takes a step forward, into Adam’s space.

“Please,” he whispers. Adam doesn’t know what he’s asking for, but he wants to give it. There’s a tug in his chest, just below his diaphragm, toward Gansey. He takes a deep breath, and forces it to let go.

“I’m sorry,” Adam says. There’s a small bit of ivy that’s trying to curl itself around Adam’s wrist. He refuses to be comforted.

“Alright.” His voice is back to that forced cheerfulness, and Adam knows it’s a mask. He’s talked to Gansey twice, and already Gansey’s an unraveling mystery. Shit.

The door jangles, startling everyone in the room. It’s Ronan, with a Raven on his shoulder. The raven. It stares at Adam, it’s beak open, as if to say something. Adam thinks of Huginn and Muninn. Thought and Memory. Thought and memory.

“I told you I didn’t want to come back here,” Ronan says. He doesn’t look uncomfortable, not really.

“And I said that you could wait in the car.” Gansey says diplomatically.

“Chainsaw wanted air.” Ronan shrugs.

“You still didn’t have to come in here, you could have walked around outside.”

Ronan only raises his eyebrow. He looks down his nose at Gansey, and Gansey sighs.

“I’ll only be another minute.” Ronan shrugs, and Gansey turns on his heel to take Blue the money. God, the money. Ronan thoughtlessly strokes the bird’s head.

“He’s beautiful,” Adam tries. Ronan’s eyes slide over to him, and Adam doesn’t feel pinned, but it’s a close thing. His eyes are so sharp, they could perform a dissection.

“Her name is Chainsaw.” Ronan offers, his voice kind despite the look on his face. Or maybe not kind, but not aggressive either.

“Can I?” Adam asks, his hand twitches up, but he stops himself.

Ronan shrugs. “Up to her,” but he takes a half step closer. Ronan’s height makes approaching awkward, but Adam puts his hand up cautiously anyway. He prepares to be bitten, but Chainsaw’s beak is gentle when she nips at his fingers. He smooths his index finger along the side of her beak to the delicate feathers on the side of her face. She makes a low croaking noise, and Ronan hums at her. Touching her is the same as shaking Gansey’s hand, the same cool stillness, the rush of sound. The feel of moss under his bare feet.

“So that’s how it is,” Ronan says. They’re too close, but Adam doesn’t feel awkward.

“I suppose so.” Adam says, even though he doesn’t understand. Faintly he hears the register ding, and Gansey tell Blue thanks. Blue says to “Come again!”

Adam jerks out of it, his hand pulling away from Chainsaw’s face, and she lifts her wings a little, but resettles quickly enough.

“Gansey,” Adam surprises himself. Gansey has his hand on the door. Ronan hasn’t moved, but Adam is sort of blocking his way. Gansey doesn’t turn, but Adam knows he’s listening. “I want in.”

“Just like that.” Gansey says, and it’s devoid of the cheerful blankness of his tone before. “You don’t even know what we’re doing.”

“It’s dying.” Before Adam said it out loud, he wasn’t sure what was wrong. Gansey turns his face, and his eyes are sharp.

“It isn’t,” And before Adam can protest, he says, “we’re going to save it.”

“Okay.” Adam says. He looks over Adam’s shoulder at Ronan, and then he opens the door.

“Okay,” Gansey repeats.

Gansey leaves. Ronan follows with the same half salute as yesterday. Blue, bless her, doesn’t mention that Adam didn’t give Gansey his number or anything.  
At least today is better than yesterday.

\--

It’s Gansey this time, in the forest. He’s sitting in the moss, facing a tree with a hole the shape of a man. Adam’s palms feel slick. He won’t look at them, afraid of what he'll see.

“Glendower,” Gansey says.

“Welsh Magician King,” Adam says back. He’s never talked in the dreams before, but he couldn’t help himself. Gansey’s face lights up, and Adam feels his pulse tick up.

The whispers, for once, are quiet. Damn them.

“I feel like we’ve been here before.” Gansey says, and Adam knows the feeling.

“I don’t know about you, but I’ve dreamt of this place a lot in the last… 5 or 6 years. Always been alone though.” He doesn’t mention Ronan in his dream last night. Or the unknown figure. He’s pretty sure that was a projection. This is Gansey. The real one. They’re what… dream sharing?

“Did you ever go looking for it?” Gansey asks. He’s fiddling with the grass, still kind of looking at the tree.

“When they first started, yeah, but then I got in trouble. Then I got busy.” He shrugs. Gansey doesn’t need the details.

“I was away, at school,” Gansey sounds upset.

“I figured. Brakebills, right?” Gansey looks at him askance. Brakebills is supposed to be a secret.

“I took the test,” he shrugs. “We probably even took it the same day. If you heard the sound of a medium sized explosion, then you heard me flunk out before I’d even started. Memory charm didn’t stick though.” He shrugs.

“I heard them talking about a kid who was cursed and they couldn't accept,” Gansey offers, “at the time I discounted it, because what could be so bad that Magic couldn't fix it?” Gansey laughs bitterly, and it leaves a sour taste in Adam’s mouth. “Then the forest came, and I knew.”

“I’m sorry,” Adam says. Gansey shrugs. This, again, Adam can tell, is what’s under the surface. Adam likes Gansey like this, under the cheerful exterior is a smart, serious person. Adam respects that.

“It’s fine. It almost drove me crazy, knowing that I couldn’t get there, waking up with leaves in my sheets and clutching moss. Freaked Ronan right the fuck out. Of course, he’d been waking up with raven feathers in his hands, so.” Adam considers this. The first time he’d woken, he’d been clutching a daisy crown he’d been making in the dream. He still had it, pressed between the pages of his copy of the Song of Achilles.

“I had a flower crown,” Adam offers. Gansey smiles at him, and it takes a second for Adam to realize he’s wearing glasses. Adam feels his mouth go dry, and he swallows. He wants to kiss Gansey, and he’s known him for a day. Less than a day. Then Gansey cocks his head looking thoughtful, and pats the pocket of his stupid sleep shorts. “Someone’s calling me.” Gansey says. Out of the corner of his eye, Adam sees fingers curl around the side of the tree.

“Oh,” Gansey has a leaf on his shoulder. Adam plucks it off, and says “You should probably get it.”  
Gansey hums, sounding disappointed.

Adam blinks and he’s gone, and the whispers come back. ‘FindUsFindUsFindUs’ they say. “Alright, alright,” he says out loud.

When he wakes up, he’s clutching the leaf from Gansey’s shoulder. It has a phone number written on it.

A: gansey?

G: Who is this?

A: Adam.

G: Did Blue give you my number?

A: No. I didn’t know you knew her. I got it from the leaf I picked off your shoulder.

G: Fascinating.

A: I think it wants me to try again. I got pretty close last time, but before the police intervened.

G: trouble?

A: Partly. When my dad found out I’d been questioned by the police, he lost it.

G: You should come over tonight, I can show you what I've got. Maybe together we can get somewhere.

A: Sure. Pizza?

G: Required. Topping Preferences?

A: No anchovies or mushrooms and I'm good to go.

G: See you then.

\--

When Gansey tells him the address, Adam says “Nuh-uh.” Now that he’s standing outside of it, it isn’t any less ridiculous. It’s an old brick warehouse, with early century paint on the side wearing away. Half of it is visible, but Adam knows this building. “Monmouth Manufacturing, are you kidding me?”

Gansey smiles at him like he’s confused, but Adam isn’t letting that distract him. “You’re not kidding me. Okay. This building has been abandoned for a long long time, Gansey. There’s no way it’s liveable. My Great Grandfather worked here.”

Gansey’s smile is less confused, and bordering on smug. The stairs are on the outside, and Adam wonders what the first floor looks like.

The iron has rusted, but not enough to make Adam concerned for his safety, just enough to make his palms itch to sand and repaint them. He clutches the box in his hands, just to have something to do.

“I haven’t ordered a sander yet, sorry. I’ve been busy,” Gansey says, and Adam almost does a double take. Gansey slots his key in the knob of the door - no deadbolt, and Adam can’t imagine that there’s anyone who would even think that anyone lives here. It looks like an abandoned warehouse. It was an abandoned warehouse.

Gansey says “fiddlesticks” which makes Adam laugh, and then lifts up on the knob, lifting the door and pushing it open. “It sticks sometimes,” he explains, “probably the weather.”

Adam hums, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the soft light in the loft of the building from the bright summer air outside. When they do, Adam is speechless anyway. There’s a leather armchair, pointed toward a bay of glass block windows, floor to ceiling. Actually, they extend past the floor on the way down, into the floor below. They refract the light coming in, diffusing it and casting small pools of rainbows on the floor. Beside the armchair is a stack of books, almost as tall as the chair, and on the other side is a floor lamp that looks like it came out of a magazine. It probably did.

There’s a rug on the floor, and on the other side of it is Gansey’s bed. It isn’t made, his grey comforter pushed up and rolled together like Gansey rolls around a lot. Poking out from under the spare frame is a pair of boxers. Gansey seems unconcerned, so Adam pushes his awkwardness aside. There’s a giant desk, one that looks like it should be in the dean’s office, pushed against the far wall. It's covered in books. There are windows that look out over the rest of the warehouse, but without the downstairs lights on, he can’t really see more than shapes.

Gansey points through a door to the left of the armchair. “Spare Bedroom,” at another door, not far from it, “Ronan’s bedroom.” This one has some papers pasted to it, and a giant “Keep out” sign that looks like it was stolen from something official. Somehow it fits with the rest of the spare decor Gansey has going on. “Bathroom & laundry room.” Part of the main room is partitioned off by tile floor, instead of the stripped hardwood, a mini kitchen. More hygenic than having it in the bathroom. He heads towards the breakfast bar to divest himself of the pizza box.

It’s nice, he supposes. It probably took more work than it was really worth, but Adam appreciates that Gansey took the time to make his space liveable. Adam’s mattress sits on the floor, and he only has a kitchen table by the grace of someone throwing theirs on the curb right before he walked by.

“Eat first? Work first?”

“Both,” Adam says. His stomach grumbles. He hasn't had pizza in what feels like years, But it was probably on Blue's birthday.

“Where do you want to start?” Gansey pulls out a drawer, and from it, a couple of plates. He turns to the fridge, and turns back slightly. “What to drink?”

“Just water,” Adam says. He can see cans of what looks like soda or beer, but he doesn't want to take the chance. Gansey nods, and pulls a pitcher of water out of the fridge. He grabs a couple of cups from the counter where they'd been set to dry. “Ice?”

“Sure, thanks.”

With the glasses sweating on the marble bar, and warm pizza in his stomach, Adam peers through the notebook that Gansey had said to start with. Paging through it, Gansey pointed at an article about ley lines, pulling out a binder and opening it up. “You'll want a copy of this,” he says, and unearths a scanner / printer and makes Adam a copy.

“Ignore that,” Gansey says, when he sees Adam reading an article about particle physics. It'd been right next to an article about big foot, and UFO sightings.

“So I should ignore the regular physics, but cryptids and UFOs I'm not to discount?”

“Bigfoot happens to be real,” Gansey says primly. “A startlingly nice gentleman, when you can find him.” Adam bites his lips together to keep from laughing. “Delightfully picky about his tea, but had an awful shedding problem.” A snort of laughter escapes Adam's mouth, and he puts his hand to his mouth to help stem the tide. “the Folks at B-FRO weren't too happy when I refused to give them a sample.”

“Oh my god,” Adam says, dissolving into laughter. He couldn't catch his breath. Gansey smiles, chuckling a little, a weirdly wistful look on his face.

When Adam catches his breath, Gansey still looks serious, and Adam says “Wait, you were serious?” And Gansey cracks, throwing his head back and his shoulders shaking with laughter.

“How dare you lie to me about B-FRO,” Adam says, mock affronted. “I trusted you.” The weird pensive look in Gansey's eye is back, but his mouth is still smiling.

Adam leans forward, into Gansey's space, without thinking about it. Gansey settles towards Adam. 

There's one brief, charged moment when Adam thinks Gansey is going to kiss him, but the door opens, and Ronan and Blue tumble in, raucous laughter and shopping bags weighing them down.

“Steg,” Ronan says, “Adam.” Gansey shuffles papers just to the right of Adam's shoulder, still so close. Adam can still feel the undercurrent of tension, but Gansey seems content to ignore it.

“Blue. Ronan. What have you got there?”

“Oreos,” Blue says, her voice soft with reverence.

“Cheetos,” Ronan says. “Captain America.” For half a second, Adam thinks it's a complete non sequitur, but Gansey nods and moves to find the remote.

There's not a TV in this room, but it seems there is one in Ronan's room, which has a bed and a couch for viewing. Blue and Ronan settle on the bed, and Gansey seems determined to take up as little space as possible on the couch. Adam nudges his knee as he passes him to take his seat, a can of soda in his hand. He rest it on his knee, and Gansey relaxes a little.

Captain America: The First Avenger is stuck in Ronan's TV. The ejector is broken, and this is the only movie he can watch without hooking something else to it.

Adam finishes his soda just as Bucky is falling. Chris Evans looks distraught, and at the same time, Gansey and Ronan both yell “BYE BYE LITTLE SEBASTIAN,” and Adam snorts soda into his nose.

“Oh my god,” he says. The combo of carbonation and high fructose corn syrup burn his sinuses. “I can't believe you two just did that.” He stands, and heads toward the bathroom, one of his hands dedicated to keeping the snotty soda off his shirt. He pulls some toilet paper off the roll and blows his nose. Best to get it over with now. He snorts up the snot in his sinuses, and spits it into the toilet, flushing the whole mess. He washes his hands three times, his nose burning.

Gansey is standing in the bathroom door, broad shoulders tilted into the frame. The look on his face is fond. It's been two days, but it feels like forever.

“Sorry about that,” his apology sounds genuine.

“No worries, man, it was poor timing to take a drink.” He doesn't say that that scene always gets to him, and he'd had to look away.

“We're good?”

“Yeah.” And they are.

Before he leaves, Gansey hole punches all the research he'd copied and stuffs it into a binder. “Just the pertinent stuff,” Gansey says. When he gets home, he realizes that there's an extra folder in the binder that he doesn't remember Gansey putting in there. He puts the binder on the counter and falls face first into bed.

–

Alone again, a cool fall afternoon. He hears the crash of feet, and two young men push through the underbrush. They have two bent sticks in their hands – dowsing rods. But what are they dowsing for?

“It's here,” the blonde one says. He sounds excited.

“Better be,” the other one says. “We've looked for it enough. The least it can do is finally show itself to us.”

“You don't deserve magic, B,” the blond one says, reproachfully. “You work for it.”

“Maybe you don't deserve magic,” he says, and trails off. He raises his eyebrow, and the blonde one laughs at this too.

“Come on,” the dowsing rods swivel a little in his loose grip. “It's this way.” They go crashing away. Out of the corner of his eye, the shadow of a tree moving catches his attention. For a second, it looked like a person.

–

“It just feels like everything's moving too fast. I just met him, and some weird forest is trying to hook us up? And it's also trying to get us to what? Fix it? Save it?” It was too much. It was giving him a headache.

“Forests do love their sacrifices.” Persephone says. Everything she says sounds like it's being whispered, but you can always hear her.

“I'm just not sure if I want to be set up by some magic forest.” Rain slaps against the window. Two hours before, when the sun had been shining, Adam was going over the last bit of research that Gansey had given him, then the clouds rolled in. Adam pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. He rubbed his forehead, and then pushed the hair off it, fisting his hand in his hair at the side of his head, careful not to lean too much on the rickety table to his left.

“A match can't be unstruck,” Persephone says, and for once, the eerie quality of her words had nothing to do with her voice.

“That is very comforting,” Adam teases.

“You don't come to me for comfort,” Persephone says. Her tone is certain. It's the truth. He can see sunshine playing on his eyelids, bright spots of red where sun from another place shines on his face. He's suspended there, stuck between two worlds, unsure of whether struggling will set him free or bind him tighter. He's not sure which he'd choose in any case. “You do get to choose what you do with the match,” Persephone offers, and that is a little comforting. For advice, it's as good as he's going to get.

“Still not comforting, but thank you.” She pats him on the shoulder.

“Oh!” she exclaims, “Don't drink Maura's new tea.”

“Bad?” He asks, looking up.

“Dreadful.” Her eyes are looking far away. He's thankful. He already feels so observed that it's nice not to be the center of someone's attention.

“Thanks.”

–

“No way,” Adam says. His headache is still there, but he's ignoring it. The rain let up enough to bike to Monmouth before it got humid again. He still didn't trust Gansey's stupid car or Ronan's driving.

“Do you like it?” Gansey asks, his voice almost bashful. He should be bragging, but he sounds like Adam is going to be offended by the beauty of what he's created.

“Are you kidding me? This is amazing!” He touches the petals of a rose in full bloom, it's yellow stamen sticking out proudly. From here he can see that basically the whole floor is plants, a twisting, narrow pathway cut through them, and lights everywhere.

“Noah says that plants only grow for people they like,” He still isn't looking at Adam. Adam's head hurts too much for him to parse it.

“They must really like you then,” he says, in lieu of trying to figure out what's wrong.

“They like Noah,” Gansey says, as if that's the final word. Adam lets it slide.

Once upstairs, Chinese takeout boxes half full and shoved aside, Adam turns to the still growing pile of research Gansey is giving him. This bit is about Glendower's magicians, suggesting that they were actual magicians of medium ilk, rather than fakes. Gansey's notes out to the side says that they mightnt't have been very powerful, to have sought positions of power within the non-magical community. Adam rolls his eyes at that, and plows on.

“Ley lines,” Adam murmurs to himself, “Always with the ley lines.”

“Noah told me that’s where I had to look,” Gansey says.

“Oh yeah?” Adam says, still reading.

“Yeah, the last time he talked to me he was frantic, telling me to look into ley lines. So I did.” Gansey says. It doesn't sound like a confession, but it has the ring of one.

“So you haven't talked to Noah in a while?” Adam asks, curious.

“Not in a couple of years. He,” Gansey pauses, “left.”

“Oh.” Adam never knows what to say in these situations. He scrunches up his nose. Gansey laughs, and that sounds about right.

“Yeah. I never knew where he went. One day he was just… gone.” Gansey shrugs, and Adam can hear the hopelessness in his voice. “I graduated and came here to look for him.”

“I hope you find him,” Adam offers, but it feels like a cold comfort.

“Me too.” Gansey says. His shoulders are set. He's looking out the bay of windows, the sunset washing the room in pinks and purples and gold. The reflection of light gives Gansey a halo – or a crown.

–

“This is it, B!” the boy says. His white blond hair falls in his eyes. He blows it away, and it falls right black in place.

'B' steps in close, puts his hand on the smaller boy's shoulder. He turns his face, and brushes his nose across the other boy's cheekbone. His blush twins Adam’s.

“That's great,” he says. The look on his face is hungry, and Adam wonders if it's for the boy, or for what they'll find. Adam's stomach twists, his heart rate kicking up.

“The ley line,” he says, awe in his voice. Thunder crashes, and Adam wakes up.

–

“Sorry, sorry, it's my mom's birthday,” Gansey is saying over the phone. Adam sits in his apartment, mail stacked on his scavenged table.

“It's ok, Gansey,” Adam says. He sorts into two stacks and a trash pile. Spam, spam, bill, keep for records, bill, spam, spam. It isn't so much mail, but he'll forget when Gansey comes back.

“I'm sorry,” Gansey says, and it's so anguished that Adam realizes that something is up.

“Gansey?” Adam asks, he picks up his phone, taking it off speaker. He pushes it between his shoulder and his ear. He stands, and heads to his bedroom. He shuts the door behind him, and revels in the dark, listening to the ragged sound of Gansey's breathing.

“I woke up, and you weren't there,” Gansey says, nonsensically. “And no one could find you, not until you called. I – we were so worried.” He shudders in another breath, and out again.

“I didn't mean to worry you,” Adam says.

“I thought it was going to take you away,” Gansey says, “You were slipping away already, someone I didn't know any more, and I thought that was the final nail in the coffin, that it'd finally take you.” His voice sounds wet now, like he's given into the crying.

“It was a dream, Gansey. I'm right here. I'll be here when you get back.” He knows the words won't help the way that Gansey feels now, but maybe later they'll help.

“It already got Noah, and I don't want it take you too,” Gansey says. “It can't,” he says firmly, “I won't let it.”

“I won't either,” Adam says. The pillow is cool against his cheek. “I didn't know where you'd gone. Ronan and Blue were at the shelter, and wouldn't say anything.”

“My father insists we all come in for Mom's birthday, or I wouldn't have left. We're so close,” he sounds so certain.

“I feel it too,” Adam offers. He can feel something, like the tide pulling him in. Gansey laughs, and it almost sounds grateful. Adam puts the phone back on speaker, his hand outstretched towards it, as if Gansey was there to take his hand. He almost feels it, on the edge of his awareness as he falls asleep.

“It's time,” a voice says, and Adam falls asleep.

–

The red mustang, Adam thinks. The red mustang, and the jacket.

“Czerny!” 'B' says, and Adam's brain starts clicking through where he's heard that before. Czerny is on the ground, his face smashed in, his school jacket and tie seemingly out of place on him. He'd been in his shirtsleeves before, or his white button down open over a stupid graphic tee. The tie. The crest. The shoes. Aftermarket rims.

“Noah,” 'B' Sobs, his hands are slick with blood, and Noah's cheek crumpled in like a cardboard box.

“Noah,” Adam says out loud. Talking doesn't affect the dream, not when no one else is here.

A hand touches his shoulder, in a panic, Adam jerks awake.

–

“Hi, this is Adam Parrish. A couple of years ago, I found the body of a teenage boy? Case number 016082309. Would it be possible to get a copy of the case file?” Adam's blood is singing. Noah. Noah Czerny.

“I'm sorry,” the clerk says, her face apologetic. Her voice is professional, and he vaguely recognizes her from god, almost ten years ago. “We can't provide any information on open cases.”

“Not even cold cases?” She shakes her head. Adam wants to punch the counter, but he takes one deep breath and pushes it out.

“Thank you for your help, ma'am.” he says, instead.

“I'm sorry Mr. Parrish. You have a nice day, okay?”

“Yeah,” he says absently, already turning away from the desk at the police station. “You too.”

–

“Oh my god, please take a shower,” Adam begs. Ronan is sprawled on top of him, smelling of sweat and asphalt and dog. Adam laughs helplessly.

“Not on your life, Parrish,” Blue says, from across the room. “I called dibs.”

Captain America says “I'm just a kid from Brooklyn” on the screen, and Ronan somehow makes himself heavier. The timer on Adam's phone dings.

“Pizza,” Adam says, shoving at Ronan. Ronan flops like a rag doll. A lead weighted rag doll. “Get off me!” Adam laughs, trying to wiggle free. “Blue! Help” Adam yells.

“No!” Is her reply.

“Oh no,” Ronan says, deadpan, even though he’s flinging his arm over his face dramatically, “gravity is increasing on me.” Adam laughs helplessly. 

The outside door opens, and Adam yells “Gansey!” in desperation. Adam hears a bag drop, and half a second later, Gansey pops his head into Ronan's room. He looks breathless, and hurt flashes in his eyes before it's hidden.

“Gansey, please help. He won't get off. Please. Save the pizza.” Adam reaches his hand towards Gansey, proffering the only oven mitt he could find. It's shaped like maple leaf.

“What.”

“The Pizza, Gansey, you have to take it out.”

“Of the oven?” Gansey seems at a loss for words, Adam can feel Ronan silently heaving with laughter. 

“Shut up, you turd, this is all your fault.” Adam digs his elbow in Ronan's side, and Ronan rolls off Adam, fully laughing now. “Oh thank goodness.”

Adam jumps up, straightening his stupid shirt where it had ridden up when Ronan flopped on top of him. He lunges forward, grabbing Gansey's wrist, and tugging him back in the main room.

“You're a lifesaver,” Adam says. He plucks the oven mitt out of Gansey's hand, but doesn't let go of his wrist. Gansey follows him to the oven easily.

Ronan's roughhousing had lifted his spirits. He pulls the pizza out of the oven, sliding it on the range. “Pizza cutter, pizza cutter,” Adam sings to himself, looking for where Gansey stores his odd kitchen utensils.

“Here,” Gansey says, reaching around Adam to pull open the drawer next to the stove. Adam fishes in the drawer, and says “Ha!” when he finds it. He turns back toward Gansey, who hasn't moved his arm. 

There's an odd look on his face, and Adam can feel the heat of his arm across his side. Adam puts the pizza cutter down on the counter, and slides his hand up Gansey's forearm. It's warm from the sun outside. Gansey shifts like he's about to pull away, but Adam licks his bottom lip, and curls his fingers around Gansey's elbow. The callouses on Adam's fingers catch in the rough skin there, but his thumb presses into the paper thin skin in the crook of his elbow.

“Hey,” he says, and his voice sounds different than it had two minutes ago, raw and vulnerable. He can feel Gansey's heart pumping in his elbow, or is that Adam's in his thumb? It doesn't matter. They're beating the same thunderous beat.

Gansey's eyelashes flutter, his eyes dipping down and then back up. “Hey,” Gansey says, and it's so soft. Adam wonders if the rest of his mouth is that soft.

Adam leans in, putting his hand on the edge of the counter for balance, and tips himself into Gansey's space. He's careful of the stove, the hot pan with the pizza, but none of it is conscious. His only thought is how plush Gansey's mouth looks. He brings his hand up to touch it, but chickens out at the last second, and curls his fingers over the collar of his shirt instead, pressing his knuckles into the rabbit fast pulse above his clavicle. Gansey's fingers clutch in the back of Adam's shirt.

“Adam,” Gansey breaths. Adam licks his bottom lip again, and tugs Gansey fractionally closer by his collar. He can hear the leaves rustling, and gives in.

“Gansey,” he kisses the side of Gansey's mouth. His lips slide across Gansey's, slick and warm. His grip on Gansey's collar tightens.

“Adam,” Gansey says again. He looks dazed, stricken. Adam leans in again, opening his mouth slightly, and this kiss is hotter, deeper. Adam flicks his tongue at the corner of Gansey's mouth, and Gansey lets out a small broken noise. Adam tips their foreheads together, catching his breath. He lets Gansey's crumpled collar go, sliding stiff fingers up the side of Gansey's neck, to curl behind his skull. His thumb brushes the underside of Gansey's jaw, and he can feel Gansey swallow. He pushes in again, slicking their mouths together over and over. There's nothing but their mouths moving together, Adam's hand on Gansey's jaw, and the warmth swelling in Adam's chest.

Adam pulls away again, dizzy, and noses into Gansey's face, nuzzling Gansey's cheek while he catches  
his breath. Dimly, Adam realizes that the shower's stopped running. He clutches helplessly at Gansey's elbow, and leans in for one last kiss. Gansey flattens his hand in the small of Adam's back, holding him in close in case Adam tries to pull away.

“God,” Gansey says, breath hot on Adam's cheek. His voice is hushed and reverent. His eyes are huge and liquid, but Adam can feel the warmth of them almost like Gansey's touching his face.

“Not quite,” Adam chuckles, and his voice feels sandpaper rough. Gansey laughs too. Warmth curls in Adam's rib cage.

“I missed you,” Gansey whispers. He leans in for another small kiss, just the barest touch of lips. It doesn’t make sense, except that it does.

“I missed you too,” Adam says. Gansey wraps his other arm around Adam's side, and pulls him in for a hug. He smells of mint and gasoline and leaves. Adam blinks back tears, because they’re stupid. 

“Gross,” Ronan says, a bundle of clothes in his hand. Blue is in the bathroom door, her hair wet and clinging to her head. She's wearing one of Ronan's shirts as a dress, her short legs poking out from from the bottom. Adam presses his face into Gansey's neck and pulls away. He turns towards the oven again.  
Gansey lets his hands linger on Adam's back for a second, before he presses a kiss to Adam's shoulder and goes to pick up the bag that he'd dropped when he came in.

Adam picks up the pizza cutter, and slices the pizza into eighths. Blue swings up to sit on the counter, tucking Ronan's shirt under her legs.

“So, you and Gansey,” Blue says conspiratorially.

“Mmmm,” Adam hums. Gansey isn't even in a different room.

“I knew it,” Blue says. “Ronan owes me ten bucks.” Of course they had a pool.

“Please remove your posterior from my counter, Jane,” Gansey says, “It's unsanitary.”

“You're unsanitary,” Blue says, but hops down. “Dibs on the veggie half.”

“Take that up with Ronan,” Adam says. He plates two slices for him, and two for Gansey. He picks up the plates, and walks toward Gansey's desk.

“Gross,” Blue says, and piles all four slices on one plate, the edges hanging off either side. She picks up a can of soda from the fridge, cracks it open, and hauls both back into Ronan's room.

“Don't do anything gross, you two,” She says.

“You're both already gross,” Ronan says, a towel slung across his shoulders, sweatpants hanging low on his hips. There's a lot of skin that Adam hasn't seen, and the tattoo splays like petals or fractals across the back of Ronan's neck and shoulders.

“Thanks,” Gansey says, touching his fingers to Adam's hand. Adam smiles at him. The world feels off kilter, but he sits down on Gansey's bed with the plate anyway. He cracks open the binder, and the manila folder in the back falls out. Pages slide across the floor. Glossy photos that shouldn't be there laugh silently at Adam. Weeks, he thinks. I've had this folder for weeks.

“Noah,” Adam says. Gansey drops his pen. He turns. Adam is on his knees on the floor, shuffling the papers back together. “Oh my god, oh my god,” Adam says.

“Adam?” Gansey asks. His voice is unsteady.

“Noah, oh my god. This whole time.” This is the case file he asked for, pictures, his anonymous statement.

“Adam?” Gansey asks again.

Adam looks up at him, clutching the papers to his chest. “Gansey.” His voice feels far away. “I'm so sorry.” Gansey doesn't say anything, but he looks at Adam as if he's grown three heads. “It was me.”

“What, Adam? What was you?” He’s looking down at himself, an outside observer. One boy sits on a bed, he’s confused and uncertain, but the emotions don’t quite fit on his face. The other, kneeling and clutching a folder to his chest looks almost penitent. 

“I took Noah from you.” Adam sounds broken. He doesn’t feel any of it. 

“No. He got moved off the ley line.” Gansey shakes his head, certain.

“They moved him because I found him.” Adam’s vision blurs, realigns. It doesn't matter if it's tears or panic, or both. He thinks he can see the shape of a boy with blonde hair, eyes hollow and cheek impossibly crumpled. standing behind Gansey.

Gansey goes rigid, and Adam's heart sinks. There it is. He knew it couldn't be that good.

“You,” Gansey starts, but doesn't finish. Adam forces himself to stand up. His knees are shaky, but they hold.

“I've,” he starts. He puts the folder down on top of his binder. “I've got to go,” he says. He doesn't pick up his binder or his phone. His keys are in his bag, and he grabs that.

“Adam--” Gansey starts, but Adam is already dashing out the door. He lunges down the stairs, almost tumbling headlong down them, but catches himself on the railing. His hands come away stained with rust. He picks up his bike, and throws himself forward, pumping his legs in his rush to get away. Home, home, anywhere but under the cold stare of Gansey's betrayal.

He's a few yards away when he hears Gansey yell after him. He keeps going, and then the slam of a car door. Adam expects the Pig, but it's the sleek rumble of Ronan's BMW that he hears, a hundred yards later. Adam takes the next corner, and hopes he loses them.

–

He ends up at the path he left, all those years ago. After he found Noah, he didn't go back. He couldn't at first, still unbalanced and uneasy. By the time he felt physically able to go back, he was too busy. He put it away. He couldn't be the kid who found a body and freaked out and let his grades drop. He had to get out. The next semester, he tested for Brakebills, left his father's house, and never looked back.

He hears a car a ways back, but there's no path big enough for it here. He left his bike by the road, but he doesn't care if he's followed. It won't matter.

“Noah,” he calls. The darkness grows. It's mid afternoon, but the sky is grey, timeless and empty. There's no birdsong, no background of life. This is death, or the presence of it.

“Noah isn't here,” says a voice, right behind him. He turns, and there's no one there.

“B,” Adam says, “I know that's you.” There's the sound of a branch cracking, and wind crashing through the branches above him. Then unnatural silence.

“NO!” the voice says, “That's not my name,” He appears to Adam's left. He curls his hand around something, and it takes Adam too long to realize that it's battle magic. He dodges, and the voice laughs. It’s hollow, like this thing has forgotten how to be human. 

“Noah never told me your name,” Adam says. He keeps an eye on him, but he flits in and out of Adam’s view. 

“Noah,” he says, and it sounds at once wistful and mocking. Like he enjoys the bitter mouthful.

“Yes,” Noah says, using Adam’s mouth. “Me.” Adam’s fingers move in ways he hasn't trained them to, and he feels the pull of power escaping. His skin is too tight, too full. His voice resonates in the clearing, and the sky darkens, clouds rolling in too quickly to be natural. The air chills, charges. 

There's a light, a deafening crash, the smell of ozone. B is gone. Not burnt, or dead. Just gone. 

“Thanks,” Adam’s voice says. 

“Noah?” At some point, without Adam noticing, Gansey had arrived. Ronan lurks behind him. 

“Gansey,” Noah says, and it isn't Adam's voice this time. Adam feels emptier, but more like he fits in his own skin again. 

There's a chill to his right. Gansey looks cracked open. Adam feels a brush of cold against his cheek. “Thank you,” Noah says. “Don’t throw it away.” 

\--

“I have no clue what just happened,” Ronan says. “But I hate it.” Blue nods. All her hair is sticking out at weirder angles than normal, and Ronan has a bruise on his cheekbone that’s just starting to show. There’d been a cave and maybe some wasps and definitely some huge deer that went extinct a couple of hundred years ago. 

“Let’s never do it again,” Adam agrees. Gansey looks alive in a way he hadn’t before. 

“See you tomorrow,” he says, and Adam supposes he will.


End file.
